So, Top Gear is now so big, Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz wanted to be on it. Nuff said.
Christ knows how, but three petrol headed louts have become an institution.
Bloody marvellous.
Let's face it , which bloke doesn't want that gig.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Team Stockport
As ever Stockport FC, arrived at the 31st World Medical Games, bursting with enthusiasm, looking forward to a great week.
This year buoyed by our unbeaten run of six draws last year, we knew a few major absences from our squad would make our lives more difficult, but we were not counting on seven new teams, mostly made up of 35 years olds and/or psychotic Croatians.
Day one. (Friday)
The 10 pathfinders arrived via Venice, picking up Messy (who'd already been in Italy a week at the airport) and a lovely minibus ride followed, passing through Northern Italy, Slovenia and Croatia.
Porec proved to be as lovely as the photos suggest.
Hotel turns out to be surprisingly good for a 3 star, and our concerns about compulsory half board disappear as the evening meal is both voluminous, tasty and expansive enough for all tastes.
The bars beckoned, and Gunner, Fiasco, Suker and Necsarec staggered in at about 3 am
Day two. (Saturday)
Registration followed by a two hour training session.
We had expected heat, but not the humidity. This proved to be one of the cooler days !!
More beers but a relatively early night in anticipation of the Italians the next day.
We have drawn Napoli (a team we know), Cro Docs (a team we were kicked to death by in 1998) and our the younger team from our old Moroccan friends. A group where we might expect to pick up points.
The second wave of Babble, Van Pearcie, Verruca and Tarantini arrive via ferry that evening.
A relatively sedate evening, and we head to bed in anticipation.
Day three. (Sunday)
The sun is cracking the slates and you could wring out the air. We arrive in good time to find a Napoli team with only one familiar face. There appears to have been some sort of aggressive footballing euthanasia, with the replacements all in their mid thirties, four of whom would appear to be also able to make their living as Olympic sprinters.
Not a good day. 9-1. On balance if we had resorted to giving them a good kicking at 2-0, we might have limited the damage.
Highlights of which there were few, were Fiasco in his grass skirt, Google's excellent lobbed goal, and watching Overtan trying to keep up with the right winger.
A dose of reality. It's clear we have younger keener opposition than in the three previous over 35's tournaments.
This is confirmed by Pierre the Game's head administrator when Necsarec catches up with him that night.
Beer followed, but another relatively early night in anticipation of the next day's brawl
Necsarec is afforded the honour of reading the Games Oath at the opening ceremony
Day four. (Monday)
The Cro Docs. It's not that Croatian players are deliberatley dirty. They are simply (should be)committed, as hard as nails, and would kick their own Granny to death if she had a football at her feet. 5-0 proved to be a gutsy result, and Necsarec (your author) left the field unbowed, albeit with legs like a beaten steak. Their number nine won't have felt too comfortable that night either. Quite a nice bunch of lads as it turned out.
Sobriety hadn't seemed to help much, so we tried a later night to see what happened.
Day five (Tuesday)
Scorchio, and not a day to meet lads used to living in heat in the forties !!
We always have a close game with Morocco's two teams and the last time we had faced these chaps we had been two up, deliberately missed what we felt was an unjust penalty, and then lost 2-3. We weren't about to make the same mistake twice.
In fact the team had also changed a little, with a few young faces on show. Still, many old friends to meet again.
They always play it slow and deliberately, and went in 1-0 up slightly against the run of play.
We are playing pretty well and the defence is resolute.
Necsarec sustains a crack to the head defending a corner. Out for a second, and that eye won't look good tomorrow
Our lack of strikers and the heat sapped us in the second half and as we tried to press for an equaliser a somewhat fortuitous shot went in from somewhere outside the box.
Renewed pressure was rewarded with a corner, from which Necsarec pressure forced a poor clearance and Fiasco slotted home. 2-1 the final score. Better but not enough.
Bottom of the group meant a play off group of three, for positions 13-15.
The opposition ? The oldest of the two Moroccan teams and our old friends the Argentinians. We were not destined to meet up with our old Australian or Spanish friends who were in the group above. (It should be pointed out that the Australians were only there courtesy of being in an initial group of only three.......and they can't play cricket either)
Our five reinforcements were due to arrive that evening, but Buttons had to turn for home after receiving dreadful family news. The remaining four arrived in poor shape having had a torrid crossing on what seems to have been more like a chartered racing powerboat than a ferry. Formation sea-sickness the order of the day. Snappa, Tourismo, Snakey and Abo have not had the most restful of trips. We are all a bit low after hearing about Button's bad news.
The draw offered us Wednesday to recuperate, with a rest day, so heavy beers followed for those who weren't too green.
Day 6.(Weds)
Despite the excesses, we are in the foyer for 10:30 and get in 90 minutes training, working on short passing and two touch. It looks good, and the people who have been here a while suffer far less than the newcomers. Snakey causes concern by pulling up with an aggravation of a recent hamstring problem. Ice and drugs and we cross our fingers for him for tomorrow.
Still blisteringly hot. Somewhat early night as we have the Argentinians and a 9 o'clock start in the town's main stadium to follow.
Day 7. (Thursday)
At last a team who are unchanged. We have played this team many times and the last two occasions have been draws, followed by English wins after penalties.
Room for optimism. In fact we are very flat, and the early night, slightly cooler temperature and the fact we are playing in the stadium, fail to lift us.
No-one can doubt the strength sapping work that is being put in, (no-one's hiding out there), but we have no inspiration.
Snakey lasts ten minutes, but our fears are realised and his tournament is once again brought to a close in his first match of the trip.
Again we fail to conjure many chances and we are clearly missing the industry and ball holding skills of our absent club captain.
We concede one in each half and manufacture only a handful of half chances.
The usual shirt-fest follows and we spend a pleasant thirty minutes after the game with our old friends. We'll need the change strip tomorrow.....although we could just about rustle up an entire Argentina strip we have collected so many shirts in the past three years.
Disappointing, and we say goodbye to Overtan, Van Pearcie, Babble and Verruca who leave that afternoon.
It's clear that temperance has not helped us at all, and with a 6am start on Saturday, and a 6pm KO the following day, this will be the "last" night on tour.
A meet up for the usual group meal, this time in the hotel, and then we hit the town.
A great night in two or three great bars.
Gunner, Fiasco, Tarantini and Necsarec, arrive with the morning light and the milk delivery !!
Day 8.
A six pm KO. Couldn't be worse.
All day to recover from last night's excess, but it will mean arriving in the hotel late after the match, eating at 9pm and no opportunity for a late night as we must be up by 5am.
Still as hot as hades as we arrive at the pitch. We should have expected what we found. A Moroccan side that had graduated from the open age competition, and not one of our old Moroccan friends in sight. The culling had been even more effective than the Italian job on Napoli.
Three of the Moroccans prayed before the match. Necsarec pondered on his own lack of faith, but concluded that even devine intervention might not be enough here.
Again a gutsy performance followed. By now down to a squad of 14, with three of those well below par, only 1-0 at half time. A typical Moroccan team, patient slow build ups ending with typical darting one-two's, looking for space or a foot to fall over.
We were having none of it, and disciplined defence with a good off-side line kept things tight, with only one defensive lapse being punished.
We weren't creating too much though. Second half, the last match. We had to push.
A bit more space for the Moroccans, a bit more ball for us. Still no more goals.
Twenty to go and the fatigue cut in and a switch in Moroccan tactics.
Two strikers seemingly not worrying about the off side.
We step up, catch three in fact, but the ball goes to an untracked whippet of a midfielder making a run from deeper. Of course those three were interfering with play. Bloody stupid rule...
Clever stuff and we can't combat it from midfield, as we have little left in the tank.
It is repeated two more times.
Finally weariness gifts a fifth from a defensive blunder.
We don't give up and throwing caution to the winds, we press on.
It is rewarded with a goal, and in fact two more good chances are spurned before the final whistle. 5-1.
It's over.
Back to the hotel for final speeches and as many beers as we think we can get away with and still get in a bus by 6am.
We emerge at 5:30am, to find the organisers of the Games in the foyer, having just got back from an all nighter
We are given a guard of honour as we leave, an honorary gold medal and discover we have won the Fair Play Trophy.
The club has always been held in great affection, we play hard, party hard and conduct ourselves with dignity
What have we learned ?
Well, this group of lads gets on well. The camerarderie is unparalleled and every player has given all he could.
Against teams on average ten or more years younger, and with several key players missing, we have probably played as well as we could, especially in the sapping humidity. In 13 years of touring the author thinks these were the toughest conditions he has faced.
Given the results, and the clear tendency for 35-40 yr old teams to now enter, what has for its first three years been an 8 team tournament of older teams (all of who have become friends), what should we do? We talked about that.
It would appear, that in the words of Bernard Hills King Theoden, when accepting that he cannot overcome the Orc Hordes at Minas Tirith, "We will meet them on the field of battle nonetheless"
Bring on 2011.
This year buoyed by our unbeaten run of six draws last year, we knew a few major absences from our squad would make our lives more difficult, but we were not counting on seven new teams, mostly made up of 35 years olds and/or psychotic Croatians.
Day one. (Friday)
The 10 pathfinders arrived via Venice, picking up Messy (who'd already been in Italy a week at the airport) and a lovely minibus ride followed, passing through Northern Italy, Slovenia and Croatia.
Porec proved to be as lovely as the photos suggest.
Hotel turns out to be surprisingly good for a 3 star, and our concerns about compulsory half board disappear as the evening meal is both voluminous, tasty and expansive enough for all tastes.
The bars beckoned, and Gunner, Fiasco, Suker and Necsarec staggered in at about 3 am
Day two. (Saturday)
Registration followed by a two hour training session.
We had expected heat, but not the humidity. This proved to be one of the cooler days !!
More beers but a relatively early night in anticipation of the Italians the next day.
We have drawn Napoli (a team we know), Cro Docs (a team we were kicked to death by in 1998) and our the younger team from our old Moroccan friends. A group where we might expect to pick up points.
The second wave of Babble, Van Pearcie, Verruca and Tarantini arrive via ferry that evening.
A relatively sedate evening, and we head to bed in anticipation.
Day three. (Sunday)
The sun is cracking the slates and you could wring out the air. We arrive in good time to find a Napoli team with only one familiar face. There appears to have been some sort of aggressive footballing euthanasia, with the replacements all in their mid thirties, four of whom would appear to be also able to make their living as Olympic sprinters.
Not a good day. 9-1. On balance if we had resorted to giving them a good kicking at 2-0, we might have limited the damage.
Highlights of which there were few, were Fiasco in his grass skirt, Google's excellent lobbed goal, and watching Overtan trying to keep up with the right winger.
A dose of reality. It's clear we have younger keener opposition than in the three previous over 35's tournaments.
This is confirmed by Pierre the Game's head administrator when Necsarec catches up with him that night.
Beer followed, but another relatively early night in anticipation of the next day's brawl
Necsarec is afforded the honour of reading the Games Oath at the opening ceremony
Day four. (Monday)
The Cro Docs. It's not that Croatian players are deliberatley dirty. They are simply (should be)committed, as hard as nails, and would kick their own Granny to death if she had a football at her feet. 5-0 proved to be a gutsy result, and Necsarec (your author) left the field unbowed, albeit with legs like a beaten steak. Their number nine won't have felt too comfortable that night either. Quite a nice bunch of lads as it turned out.
Sobriety hadn't seemed to help much, so we tried a later night to see what happened.
Day five (Tuesday)
Scorchio, and not a day to meet lads used to living in heat in the forties !!
We always have a close game with Morocco's two teams and the last time we had faced these chaps we had been two up, deliberately missed what we felt was an unjust penalty, and then lost 2-3. We weren't about to make the same mistake twice.
In fact the team had also changed a little, with a few young faces on show. Still, many old friends to meet again.
They always play it slow and deliberately, and went in 1-0 up slightly against the run of play.
We are playing pretty well and the defence is resolute.
Necsarec sustains a crack to the head defending a corner. Out for a second, and that eye won't look good tomorrow
Our lack of strikers and the heat sapped us in the second half and as we tried to press for an equaliser a somewhat fortuitous shot went in from somewhere outside the box.
Renewed pressure was rewarded with a corner, from which Necsarec pressure forced a poor clearance and Fiasco slotted home. 2-1 the final score. Better but not enough.
Bottom of the group meant a play off group of three, for positions 13-15.
The opposition ? The oldest of the two Moroccan teams and our old friends the Argentinians. We were not destined to meet up with our old Australian or Spanish friends who were in the group above. (It should be pointed out that the Australians were only there courtesy of being in an initial group of only three.......and they can't play cricket either)
Our five reinforcements were due to arrive that evening, but Buttons had to turn for home after receiving dreadful family news. The remaining four arrived in poor shape having had a torrid crossing on what seems to have been more like a chartered racing powerboat than a ferry. Formation sea-sickness the order of the day. Snappa, Tourismo, Snakey and Abo have not had the most restful of trips. We are all a bit low after hearing about Button's bad news.
The draw offered us Wednesday to recuperate, with a rest day, so heavy beers followed for those who weren't too green.
Day 6.(Weds)
Despite the excesses, we are in the foyer for 10:30 and get in 90 minutes training, working on short passing and two touch. It looks good, and the people who have been here a while suffer far less than the newcomers. Snakey causes concern by pulling up with an aggravation of a recent hamstring problem. Ice and drugs and we cross our fingers for him for tomorrow.
Still blisteringly hot. Somewhat early night as we have the Argentinians and a 9 o'clock start in the town's main stadium to follow.
Day 7. (Thursday)
At last a team who are unchanged. We have played this team many times and the last two occasions have been draws, followed by English wins after penalties.
Room for optimism. In fact we are very flat, and the early night, slightly cooler temperature and the fact we are playing in the stadium, fail to lift us.
No-one can doubt the strength sapping work that is being put in, (no-one's hiding out there), but we have no inspiration.
Snakey lasts ten minutes, but our fears are realised and his tournament is once again brought to a close in his first match of the trip.
Again we fail to conjure many chances and we are clearly missing the industry and ball holding skills of our absent club captain.
We concede one in each half and manufacture only a handful of half chances.
The usual shirt-fest follows and we spend a pleasant thirty minutes after the game with our old friends. We'll need the change strip tomorrow.....although we could just about rustle up an entire Argentina strip we have collected so many shirts in the past three years.
Disappointing, and we say goodbye to Overtan, Van Pearcie, Babble and Verruca who leave that afternoon.
It's clear that temperance has not helped us at all, and with a 6am start on Saturday, and a 6pm KO the following day, this will be the "last" night on tour.
A meet up for the usual group meal, this time in the hotel, and then we hit the town.
A great night in two or three great bars.
Gunner, Fiasco, Tarantini and Necsarec, arrive with the morning light and the milk delivery !!
Day 8.
A six pm KO. Couldn't be worse.
All day to recover from last night's excess, but it will mean arriving in the hotel late after the match, eating at 9pm and no opportunity for a late night as we must be up by 5am.
Still as hot as hades as we arrive at the pitch. We should have expected what we found. A Moroccan side that had graduated from the open age competition, and not one of our old Moroccan friends in sight. The culling had been even more effective than the Italian job on Napoli.
Three of the Moroccans prayed before the match. Necsarec pondered on his own lack of faith, but concluded that even devine intervention might not be enough here.
Again a gutsy performance followed. By now down to a squad of 14, with three of those well below par, only 1-0 at half time. A typical Moroccan team, patient slow build ups ending with typical darting one-two's, looking for space or a foot to fall over.
We were having none of it, and disciplined defence with a good off-side line kept things tight, with only one defensive lapse being punished.
We weren't creating too much though. Second half, the last match. We had to push.
A bit more space for the Moroccans, a bit more ball for us. Still no more goals.
Twenty to go and the fatigue cut in and a switch in Moroccan tactics.
Two strikers seemingly not worrying about the off side.
We step up, catch three in fact, but the ball goes to an untracked whippet of a midfielder making a run from deeper. Of course those three were interfering with play. Bloody stupid rule...
Clever stuff and we can't combat it from midfield, as we have little left in the tank.
It is repeated two more times.
Finally weariness gifts a fifth from a defensive blunder.
We don't give up and throwing caution to the winds, we press on.
It is rewarded with a goal, and in fact two more good chances are spurned before the final whistle. 5-1.
It's over.
Back to the hotel for final speeches and as many beers as we think we can get away with and still get in a bus by 6am.
We emerge at 5:30am, to find the organisers of the Games in the foyer, having just got back from an all nighter
We are given a guard of honour as we leave, an honorary gold medal and discover we have won the Fair Play Trophy.
The club has always been held in great affection, we play hard, party hard and conduct ourselves with dignity
What have we learned ?
Well, this group of lads gets on well. The camerarderie is unparalleled and every player has given all he could.
Against teams on average ten or more years younger, and with several key players missing, we have probably played as well as we could, especially in the sapping humidity. In 13 years of touring the author thinks these were the toughest conditions he has faced.
Given the results, and the clear tendency for 35-40 yr old teams to now enter, what has for its first three years been an 8 team tournament of older teams (all of who have become friends), what should we do? We talked about that.
It would appear, that in the words of Bernard Hills King Theoden, when accepting that he cannot overcome the Orc Hordes at Minas Tirith, "We will meet them on the field of battle nonetheless"
Bring on 2011.
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